


Leof Folmum

by Anne_Fairchild



Series: No Cunning To Be Strange [1]
Category: The Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Fetish, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 13:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14521377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: Harry’s developed a bit of a fetish.





	Leof Folmum

Is it possible to be in love with individual parts of your lover’s anatomy?  From the moment I experienced them, I fell in love with Bob’s hands.  Large hands, with thick, blunt fingers.  Bainbridge hands, he tells me, embarrassed that I’ve taken notice; coarse, he says, like the ancient villeins they descended from.  I don’t find them coarse or peasant-like at all, I think they’re bold and strong and sexy as hell.  Embarrassed or not, I think it secretly pleases him that I think so.  Oh, he knows – I’ve told him often enough.  There are times I beg him to touch me, not always with sex in mind either.  I just want him to touch me with those hands.

They’re rougher than you might think, and the combination of that roughness and the gentleness with which he can touch me makes me close my eyes and shiver with the sheer pleasure of it, never having enough, always wanting more. 

His hands take away the pain of a headache, the restlessness of a fever or the hot anger of a wound as tenderly as a mother.  They care for me, soothe and excite me.  In my imagination, they’ve taken on a life of their own, part of Bob but apart from him too. 

Of course, during sex, his hands make me crazy.  So hot they’re on fire, a damp heat that makes my body crave them almost feverishly.  Stroking my belly; teasing my nipples.  Holding me so I can’t move; can’t do anything he doesn’t want me to do.  When he’s like that it starts a fire in my gut that only he can put out – and I don’t mind if he takes his time.

He can make me come just being held in those big, hot hands.  Sometimes, when their heat is wrapped around my cock, he’ll tell me to fuck them.  I plunge into the fire, raucous in my want, delirious to burn.  He’s the only lover I’ve ever had who can make me feel good about feeling dirty. 

When he puts his fingers inside me, I’m his.  I admit it; he could do literally anything to me, and I would beg him for more.  They _know_ , those clever digits, exactly what I want, and even better, what I need, even if I don’t yet know what that is.

Bob’s hands have never hurt me, in anger or in play.  I like to think they never could.

What are hands called in the language you grew up speaking, I asked him.  _Folmum,_ he replied.  I think I have a hand fetish, I told him.  What would you call that?  He laughed, and thought about it, and said _leof folmum_ , beloved hands, or dear hands.  I kissed them then, repeating the words.  _Leof_ Harry, he whispered, his voice husky, and then he touched me.


End file.
